The Future is My Past
by FlyForever
Summary: "Celeste wondered what would happen the second time one of these... (angels)... steals her life. If it was even living outside her mind." Future Doctor/OC Friendship. She was an insane girl in an asylum, he was the madman with a box.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who, but I do own Celeste Chase.**

Twenty-five year old Celeste Chase shivered in the corner of a dim, damp room. Her nails scraped frantically, repetitively at the cement floor. Voices were screaming inside her head in the deadly silent room. The only real noise came from outside, heavy pounding footsteps running towards her. Memories of the same figure in front of her, blurry from the passing of years, were being shoved to the front of her mind. But it wasn't real, it couldn't be real, all she had ever been told was that the thing in front of her was not real. Celeste wondered what would happen the second time one of these... things... steals her life. If it was even living outside her mind. Would it be her end or just another beginning. She would bet her life for a chance to escape. Dying would be alternatively welcome.

The footsteps were narrowing in on her and her eyes were still locked on the image in front of her, wide with panic (yet full of acceptance). Maybe this time the angel was sent to save her from hell. She heard the door rattle as someone pulled on it from the outside, only to be replaced by a mechanical whining noise and the click of the lock turning.

"Whatever you do, don't blink!"

But it was too late, by the time he opened the door the young woman had already disappeared.

* * *

At seven years old Celeste was a decidedly normal child. Darkness could still keep her awake with fear, she had stuffed animals to protect her from the night, and a loving mother to send her off to bed. So it was quite predictable when her mum did not come back to her room as promised Celeste went searching.

"Mum? Where are you?"

The young girl reached up to a light switch right by her head and flipped it up and down and back up again.

"Mum! The lights aren't working!" she yelled, before pulling the door open.

All she heard was thunder, the lightning providing brief, unwanted assistance, causing her to let out a scream. As fear gripped at her heart, she started to cry.

"Plea-ease Mu-um," her voice cracking, hardly a whisper.

The floorboards on the stairs began to creak and she ran down the hall and towards them with relief.

"I-I thought..." But as the lightning lit up the house one last time Celeste did not see her mother. An angel of stone was reaching towards her. Then the house fell into darkness.

* * *

Just a little girl. Just a little girl with a pounding head shouting at her from the inside. Just another small orphan on the streets of late nineteenth century London who lost her mother, father, and the entire world she knew in the blink of an eye.

* * *

Celeste was haunted by a past that was never really a past at all. It was a future. Sitting in the back of her head waiting for an escape. Waiting for a chance to consume her.

* * *

"I'm telling you, she's insane! I can't have her around the others any longer! She will drive them all mad with her madness!"

Celeste was sitting in the corner of her home for the past nine years. A crowded orphanage spilling with forgotten children. The adults in the same room talking as if they were not deciding her future right in front of her. And they weren't. They were only meters away from her, but she might as well have been in a different country. The thunder so loud in her ears, the statue, always the same, screaming out at her. Her arms were wrapped around her head and her eyes were squeezed shut. She was rocking back and forth and at random intervals she would grab at her hair, as if trying to pull it out. The images were shouting out at her, blurred, but screaming. Her past, which was this world's future, was trying to take over her. And she would simply not allow it. So she continued to rock back and forth in the corner, pulling at her hair, fighting the voices screaming in her head.

Unknowingly, she was fighting the wrong forces. While she was fighting the imagined nightmares in her head she was submitting herself to real ones to come.

* * *

When Celeste Chase entered the asylum at the mere age of seventeen she was not insane (she was a scared little girl running away from angels, darkness, and thunder storms). Before she left the asylum, she was.

* * *

Her new home was a small room made of cement floors and cement walls and what might as well have been a cement bed. The room was covered with carvings from past sufferers, past victims. Some of the designs were her own.

She often spent her days curled up in a corner, hoping to be passed over by the treatments for just one more day. The treatments that more closely resembled torture. There were many different approaches to curing insanity. At times they would cut her open in an attempt to make the insanity bleed out of her. Others they would attempt to send her into a coma in hopes that she would wake up cured. But Celeste knew the truth. People who entered this place never leaved. There was no cure for insanity, the cures were only poison, helping it spread. This was now her life.

* * *

Twenty-five year old Celeste Chase had found her escape, and she couldn't have been more happy.

**So there it is. It really came out of nowhere. I might continue this as a piece where she runs into the Doctor again and actually gets to meet him. Maybe. It would really suck to ruin it because I'm okay with were it is at now, but at the same time I really want to write a Dctor/ OC Companion friendship piece, and if there is anything both of those people need, it's a friend. I'm currently on season five of Doctor Who so any inaccuracies are hopefully able to be attributed to that.**


End file.
